A cancer survivor, Christine, tells us about the many layers of her experiences, in this personal prose poem, dealing with the dreaded disease. An exclusive for Different Truths.

They said, and their smiles were true, sincere, admiring even.
And I felt the need to deny it…
That high degree of fulsome praise they shared.
I felt decidedly uncomfortable, even uneasy,
somewhere deep inside.
This was not the face of courage I truly wore,
though I was grateful for such praise, kind beliefs, and judgments.
Yes, I have cancer,
and yes,
I am fighting this without recourse to any of the desired or recommended therapies – like chemotherapy, or
radiotherapy, or
immunotherapy.
Surgery was never an option as the intruder had moved into my lymph system quite rapidly.

Bravery has formed further down the track from the original decision making and takingꟷ
in the middle of the lonely nights,
when the darkness encompasses ALL,
and hope is buried deep…
somewhere!
I will find it, I WILL.
Call up those red marching ants to take me into another phase of this battle, where they chomp their way through cancer cells, singing their songs with the HURRAHs and BOOM, BOOM, BOOMs loudly resonating in my head, and the voice of my imagination. More bravery!

According to the ‘oinkologist’ (my name for the pig of a specialist, who briefly took over the Oncology Department of a nearby Hospital)l, I wouldn’t see Christmas 2021, wouldn’t be able to get out of bed because of pain from crumbling spine caused by cancer, and, also importantly, it mattered zilch to him that I am a writer, well practiced in research , and that I was actually wasting his time if I wouldn’t talk chemo,  radio or targeted immune therapies. (I agreed and have never seen him again.)

Did he seriously believe it was bravery he furthered within me? I’d rather call it stubborn and absolute denial of his picture of my future. Bizarrely, I believe I have much to thank that ‘oinkologist’ for… he made me so angry and determined, my spirit has rarely wobbled since and my decision has never been doubted for an instant.

In fact, I am now not far from 12 months since diagnosis, still have my silver hair (much thinner, but silkier and shinier than ever and ‘scrunchy’ with my fingers into pleasing waves and soft curls! Added to that, a small increase in weight (after getting to a dangerously low ebb) of 2.5kgs. Dare I wish, hope, pray that the wondrous word ‘remission’ could be happening? Don’t know, but it’s a beautiful dream.

I must be honest and admit I have had an increase in the number of tumours and their destruction of some of my capabilities ... but NOT my creativity, and as a writer and poet, THAT is my everything, and I have reason to hold hope for my future.

THAT, my friends, is when I was at my bravest… my finest hour, we could say. But without dear Old McLarsen standing stolidly at my side (both physically and emotionally), I doubt I could have been THAT strong.

Are there wobbles of my ‘bravery’ in the worst pain moments?

Oh, yes! Quite a few.

But I repeat, NEVER, EVER about my decision to go it alone’. Thankfully, we two have agreed on this for a very long time, and it has been so satisfying to see there was no change in our choice when it came to the ‘final countdown’.

Now, this was Brave.

Picture design by Anumita Roy, Different Truths.

Christine Larsen

Christine Larsen is an Australian in her seventh decade – writer, farmer, wife, mother, grandmother – living on their retirement farm. Her words have taken on new meaning with her recently confirmed diagnosis of Lung cancer, as her journey begins to conquer this uninvited invader with a formidable strength of character and unique sense of humour. Her website is: www.cdcraftee.com, and her public writings can be read for free by Googling – cdcraftee